


A Little Night Music

by Kizzywiggle



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Jazz - Freeform, M/M, Tattoos, Thorin is a Softie, nightclub!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 22:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7456476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kizzywiggle/pseuds/Kizzywiggle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Thorin found his soulmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Night Music

**Author's Note:**

> Very short, sickeningly sweet. 
> 
> A friend on Twitter gave me the prompt 'tattoo', and as I've been deep in the Bagginshield ship all weekend, this is where it took me...

Music spilled from the open door of the nightclub and stroked a sultry finger along Thorin’s back, raising the fine hairs all over his body and making him shiver. Someone inside was singing bluesy jazz in a light baritone voice to the accompaniment of a piano, a sax, a drum and a string bass and it felt like they were singing just to Thorin. He'd never heard - or felt - anything like it. It bypassed his higher brain functions and went straight to his libido. He turned as though being remote controlled and walked into the club, blinking in the dim light.

He went over to the bar and ordered a neat scotch, then sipped it as he listened to the singer crooning soft, urgent words about love and loss. He didn't turn to look at the stage, preferring to lose himself in the sound. He sat and sipped through this scotch then another while the set came to an end and silence filled the club like the indrawn breath after a first kiss. Thorin shivered and arched his back minutely, exhaling, biting back a groan. 

Someone slotted in next to him at the bar. “Sparkling water, please, Carol,” said a man's voice. The bartender uncapped a bottle, the cap plinking to to floor, and handed it over with a glass. “Thanks,” said the man. Thorin was still lost in the music and only half-registered the conversation, paying no attention until the man began humming. It was the singer! Thorin flushed and closed his eyes, taking a moment to put his game face on before looking cautiously over out the side of his eye. 

The first thing he noticed was the tattoos.

Covering every available millimeter of skin from the wrist bone as far up as Thorin could see were bright, bold, complex tattoos. Green trees bled into wide deserts into fire-topped mountains, twined about with eagles and spiders and bears in a glorious tapestry. The arms underneath the tattoo were solid, neatly muscled, and led down to square, sensible-looking hands, one of which was wrapped around a glass of lightly fizzing water. Thorin turned slightly and continued looking, subtly. The man wore a white linen shirt, open at the neck, sleeves tidily rolled to the elbow. Over the shirt he wore a waistcoat which seemed to shimmer in the dim light from blue to lilac to grey to steely silver, and slim-fit navy jeans. Thorin glanced up and saw the man was checking him out, too. The singer stuck out a hand, causing his tattoos to ripple. “Bilbo Baggins. Hello.” He grinned.

Thorin flushed. “Thorin. Oakenshield. Uh. Hi,” he answered. “Are you...are you the singer?” He asked hesitantly. Bilbo nodded, beaming. “Yeah, I am.” Suddenly, shyness and a sort of high-school gaucheness overtook Thorin, and he lost the power of speech momentarily. He gaped. _Get it together, man!_ he berated himself, shoving a shaky hand through his hair. He didn't realise it ruffled him up until he looked adorably scruffy and in need of tidying, but it did. Bilbo's smile changed, becoming less wide, more confiding. He leaned in to Thorin and adopted a low, intimate tone. 

“Did you like the set?” he asked. Thorin nodded and made a grunt of agreement. “Great!” said Bilbo. “We are trying new material tonight; stuff we've written, as well as the classics. It’s a high, but also kinda...I dunno, it makes me feel vulnerable?” he shrugged, and leaned back. Thorin felt cold as Bilbo moved away, like he'd taken the sun with him. He didn't understand what was happening to him at all - had he been more superstitious, or credulous, he'd have called it a spell, but this was the real world, not a film or book. So what the hell _was_ it? Bilbo sipped his water and grinned up at Thorin again. “You're a quiet one, aren't you?” 

“Not always,” Thorin answered. “Your music was...special. I love your sound.” He flushed. “Uh, the band, that is,” he qualified in a flustered tone. “You’re, _they're_ great.” He took a sip of scotch and prayed for coolness, or to be struck by lightning, or possibly the services of a translator. Something that would stop him coming over as a total prat, anyway.

There was a clatter as the drummer sat back down on stage and dropped his sticks. Thorin jumped. Bilbo looked up at the stage with exasperation. “He does that every damn time,” he grumbled. “Anyway, that's my cue.” His gaze sharpened as he looked back at Thorin. “Look, I might be barking up the wrong tree entirely, here, but...will you be here until the end?” Thorin nodded. “Would you wait for me?” At this, Thorin's eyes widened. Surely, he misunderstood? Bilbo clarified quickly, as he slipped off of the barstool and tugged his waistcoat down: “It sounds crazy, but I feel like I know you, and I should know you better...if you don't think I'm a total loony, or a pervert, wait for me?” He moved quickly to the stage, leaving Thorin in a confused puddle of lust and musical bliss. 

The second set was about forty-five minutes long. The night seemed to close in about Thorin with warm, safe arms as Bilbo sang smoky songs that felt like they were just for Thorin. This was nothing short of crazy, not how the world worked at all, but just this once Thorin went with it and basked in the warmed-wine glow of Bilbo’s voice. He never finished the second scotch, he just sat.

When the set finished, Bilbo had a quick word with the band, who nodded, grinned and nudged him, and slipped off of the stage, quickly making his way to Thorin. “Ready?” he asked.

“For what?” Thorin replied. 

“I don't know, maybe...this?” said Bilbo, and put his hand on Thorin's shoulder before moving slowly, calmly into his space. He kept eye contact the whole time, tilting his head as his face drew closer to Thorin's, his intent plain. 

Suddenly, the spell broke, and Thorin no longer felt so calm, so quiet. He smiled wickedly. “Oh, that!” he growled, and met Bilbo in the middle. Their mouths came together softly. As far as first kisses went it was no earthshaker, but it felt sweet and good and _right_ and both men hummed with pleasure. The kiss went on, and deepened, and the men moved in closer to each other until Thorin realised he was wrapped around the smaller guy, one arm around Bilbo's waist, one hand tangled in his curly brown hair. Bilbo had his hands up on Thorin's shoulder blades like he was trying to pull Thorin down towards Bilbo’s mouth. They kissed until the bartender coughed discreetly, and someone in the bar shouted, “Get a room!”, when they separated, smiling sheepishly at each other, not making eye contact, but still with an arm around the other’s waist. 

Bilbo leaned into Thorin's side and his weight felt so good, so like he had always been there, and was always meant to be there, and Thorin sighed contentedly. Bilbo looked up. “I know a great little all-night transport cafe,” he said. “Fancy getting to know each other better over a bacon butty as thick as your arm?”

With a shouted laugh, Thorin agreed. It had been the oddest night of his life, and that lingering sense of magic still tingled at the back of his brain, but - crazy as it might sound - he knew in his soul that here was where he was meant to be. Not in this club, but with this man. With _Bilbo_ , wherever that might be. “Come on then,” he said, smiling down at a still-grinning Bilbo. “I'll buy the tea!”


End file.
